R.I.P., Dad

On the night of February 22, my father, Louis Bayard, Sr., died in his sleep. Dad was 80 and had been struggling with Alzheimer’s disease and a variety of other ailments. I miss him awful. He was one of the gentlest people I've ever known—and one of the most eccentric. A friend who lived across the street from us growing up has a vivid memory of him taking out the trash on winter mornings in slippers, a robin’s-egg-blue silk kimono/bathrobe (which, through shrinkage, had risen halfway up his thigh) and a towering Russian fur-lined hat. Here’s the funny part: We thought all fathers dressed that way.

So if you have a moment, give up a thought for my dad. He was cool.